The Guilty
by Frodo Silverlune
Summary: Part One. The weight of the dead hangs heavy on the Ringbearer, who blames himself for Gandalf's fall. He will not allow himself to be comforted, and the haunting responsibility may eventually lead to his undoing.
1. Chapter 1

**The Guilty**

_By FrodoBaggins87_

Rated PG for heavy angst and injuries.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

**~Chapter 1~**

~~~~*~~~~

            Frodo ran, blinded by tears, stumbling over stray helmets and loose rocks.  Ahead, Aragorn's torch bounced on, a beacon amid endless black tunnels of stone, bounding up jagged flights of stairs.  From behind him, heavy breathing and clinking chain mail announced the presence of the twice-grieving dwarf, who by all rights should have been rejoicing in his kinsman's great craftsmanship rather than mourning over its overwhelming destruction.

The torch fluttered around a corner, and as he followed, the blue-white light nearly blinded the Ringbearer.  

"Come!" shouted Aragorn over his shoulder to the remaining members of the Fellowship.  The great doorway was in sight, a massive wall of unpenetrable light; if they approached it they surely should find the wall solid.  

Suddenly, from the shadows an orc chieftain leaped, snarling and brandishing his sword, into Aragorn's path.  Before Frodo had a chance to cringe at his hideous face, he was flung aside, the ring from Anduril as it smote through his armour echoing off the walls.  A great squealing and rushing announced the fleeing of his regiment, as they returned into the dark shadows and yawning fissures, invisible in the rock.  

Suddenly, they were through.  The wind chilled the sweat on their brows and nearly swept them off their feet.  Above, the cerulean sky was laced with white clouds, yet they had no time to stare in wonder at the scenery.

"We must hurry!" Aragorn cried, urging them on over massive slabs of white rock.  

Now that Frodo could see, he noticed his cousins weeping as they ran.  Merry was nearly supporting a sobbing Pippin, although it was unclear how he found the strength.  Frodo glanced behind him and saw Sam wipe his sleeve across his eyes.   How had it come to this?

Gandalf fell.  And it was all Frodo's fault.  He had earnestly begged Gandalf's companionship in Rivendell, and although the wizard had been unsure of the idea, he had come along anyway.  Who had decided they would go through the Mines?  Aragorn himself had warned Gandalf against going into the mines.  

Ahead of him, the group collected and the two hobbits collapsed on the ground, sobbing and gasping for air at the same time.  

Aragorn stood staring out at the landscape, face placid, a single tear rolling down his cheek.  Boromir's face was pinched with grief as he witnessed the agony of the two hobbits on the ground.  Gimli and Sam sat off by themselves, and over all Legolas wandered through the scene, puzzled at the unfamiliar emotions.

_'I have caused this,'_ Frodo thought in utter realization.  _'What have I done? Why did I ever decide to go through the mines?'_

He wished he could collapse on the ground and beg forgiveness, or weep until there was nothing left, but the burden around his neck could not be abandoned.  One had been lost already.  How was one to tell who the next would be?  What if Aragorn was next? He was a future King!  And Legolas!  He was a Prince!  Boromir was the Son of the Steward, and Merry would rule Buckland someday, as Pippin would Tookborough.  Could he, Frodo Baggins, be responsible for not only the loss of their companionship, but the chaos of their kingdoms?

He gazed South, in the direction of Mordor.  Already a small black line on the horizon gave direction to their existence.  

_'I cannot cause any more deaths,' _Frodo decided.  He watched as Sam buried his face in his hands, tears leaking through his fingers in sorrow and loss.  It was then the full impact of Gandalf's fall hit him.  The numb shell fell from his heart and he felt as though he was being torn in two.  Gandalf was gone, forever.  The fireworks, the stories, the smokerings, the wisdom, were no more.  He had been snuffed out, like a candle.  No more was he to drive his cart up the walkway to Bag End and rap on the door with his staff.  He was gone.

_'It's my fault,'_ Frodo agonized.  _'His death is all my fault.'_

Staggering, he turned his face towards the dark line on the horizon.  Why had the Council given him companions, only to have them destroyed one by one?  He took a step away, and another, and another.  He felt the tears as they rolled slowly down his cheeks.  This Quest was hopeless.  They would never make it to Mount Doom.  He might as well just lay down and die right where he stood….

"Frodo?"

He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped in his tracks, feeling eight pairs of eyes bore into his back.  This is what they had chosen.  

'Why do you stay?' he wanted to ask  'Will you follow me to certain death?  Gandalf is the first…who will be second?'

"Come," Aragorn was saying to the Fellowship.  "We have a long road, and much to do."*

~*~

            Frodo was thankful for the speed at which they were going.  Being a hungry, wounded hobbit full of despair, the endless running kept him from thinking.  He was numb, save for his side where he had been hurled against the wall by the spear, and he found each step, each breath, to be more painful than the one before it.  His body begged for a rest, but he would not give in to the entreaties.  He didn't deserve to have his wounds cared for, the traitor that he was.  He had led Gandalf to his death.  He shouldn't be petted and cared for like a king.  Besides, there was Bilbo's gift concealed under his clothing; the gift that had saved his life.  He had seen Gimli's eyes gleam with dwarvish wonder at the mithril embedded in the mine's walls.  He didn't want to take any chances, with anyone, slim as they were.

He looked up, finding he and Sam had drifted far behind the rest of the Fellowship, and chastised his stupidity.  If he lagged behind, they would remember his injury and insist on caring for him.  He couldn't stand the thought of their touching a filthy, guilt-laden creature like him.

But it was too late.  The fellowship halted and the two Men came running towards them.  Frodo searched his mind frantically for some excuse, and noticed Sam's hurt on his forehead.  

"I apologize for not calling you sooner!' Frodo said as Aragorn approached.  "I was afraid Sam would have no one to aid him if something happened, and could not call out for want of air."  

"I should be the one to apologize," Aragorn said.  "So much has happened this day and we have such need of haste, that I had forgotten* Sam was hurt!"

Sam stared up at him blearily, half-conscious with weariness.  Frodo breathed a sigh of relief as Boromir took Sam's pack and Aragorn lifted the hobbit into his arms.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said as the trio made their way back to the rest.  "We have done nothing to ease you as we ought, though all the orcs in Moria were after us.  Come now!  A little further on there is a place where we can rest for a little.  There I will do what I can for you.*"

Frodo smiled to himself, glad that Aragorn had not remembered the incident.  But as they picked up the pace once more, he began to regret his pretense.  Pain tore through his side with every step, and the ragged breaths he drew grazed the back of his throat.  He began to feel light headed, and the ground disappered beneath his feet.  He was running on nothing, watching the figures of the fellowship grow fainter and further away with every step he took.

Finally, he could take no more and he fell to his knees, white clouding in at the edges of his vision.  His breath came in tiny hitches, and he fought against the darkness threatening to take over his mind.  

_'Breathe slowly and deeply, don't close your eyes,'_ he remembered from a book he had once read.  Frodo took a slow breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth until his vision cleared and he was able to stand once again.  The company was far away by now, and the thought entered his mind.

_'Escape!__  Go now, while you have the chance!  They haven't noticed you yet, abandon them and set out on your own!'_

The offer was incredibly tempting.

_'Do you want anymore to die?  Do you want Merry and Pippin to die?  What about Sam?'_

"Sam!" Frodo called, and staggered forward.  He couldn't abandon his best friend now, not after he had followed his master so faithfully for so long!  But before he had gone ten feet, he knees gave away under him and he sank to the ground.

"Sam…" he whispered, clawing at the tufts of grass to regain his feet.  The last thing he saw before everything went black were his friends, now only small ants in his view, running away, far away from him, the Guilty.

**~To be continued!~**

(*taken from 'The Fellowship of the Ring,' chapter VI 'Lothlorien')

_Note:  I might not be able to update as quickly as I would like, because I am working on four stories.  Sorry!  _


	2. Chapter 2

**The Guilty**

Disclaimer:  See chapter 1.

THANK YOU to MrsBaggins, Kaewi, Iorhael, Frodo Baggins 88, boromir, and Elizabeth16 for reviewing!

A note:  No, the Ring is not causing Frodo to think he is guilty.  It's the Baggins stubbornness, and good ol' Frodo angst.  But the Ring does aggravate it ONLY SLIGHTLY.  Overall, the Ring is not the main cause of this story, and should not be the focus.  If I bring it into too much light, please let me know!

**~Chapter 2~**

~~~~*~~~~

            Legolas knew something was wrong.  He felt a blow to his heart as though someone had struck him, and instinctively counted the members in the fellowship.

_'Seven…someone's missing….Frodo!'  _

"Aragorn!" he cried, and the Ranger spun around.  "Where's Frodo?"

Frantically, Aragorn's eyes scanned the surrounding landscape, and his brow furrowed in worry.  The Ringbearer was nowhere to be seen.  He was about to double back in their tracks when a low moan from Sam froze him in his place.  Sweat was gathering on the hobbit's flushed forehead, and he could only assume the orc blade had been poisoned.

"Legolas," he said, "Boromir, Gimli, go back and search for Frodo.  We're nearly to the glade.  I'll meet you there, for I must attend to Sam immediately."

The three warriors nodded and took off running, leaving Sam in the Ranger's care.

Aragorn picked up his hobbit bundle and set off running, followed by the two anxious cousins.

~*~

            Frodo didn't know how long he watched the tiny blades of grass flickering shyly in the wind before his face, but it was quite some time before his limbs ceased shaking long enough for him to haul himself into a sitting position.  How long had he been unconscious?  It felt like a few seconds had passed before he opened his eyes, too weak to move.  

Arms trembling, he fished around in his pack for his water skin and finally drew it out, taking a long swallow.  The cool liquid did wonders for his dry throat, and no sooner had he put it away than he stood on weak knees, surveying the landscape for any sign of his companions.  By now they should have missed him.

_'If only I didn't carry the Ring, I could possibly slip away unnoticed,'_ he thought regretfully.  _'But I'm too 'important' to be missing so long.  It's a wonder they haven't already begun to look for me…'_

"Frodo!"  The clear call floated on the air, and his keen hobbit-ears picked up Legolas' cry without difficulty.  Sighing, he took a deep breath to respond, but the dagger-sharp pain ripping through his rib cage forced him to double over in agony.  

_'It's all your fault!'_ his mind screamed at him as he gasped pitifully for air.  _'You shouldn't have offered, OFFERED, to take the stupid Ring on a stupid quest to some stupid volcano.  Gandalf wouldn't have *died,* Sam wouldn't be hurt, and you wouldn't be spoiling Pippin's innocence, what's left of it anyway.'_

Frodo groaned in the face of the accusations, but pulled himself up right.  His ears caught the sound of heavy footfalls somewhere close, and he quickly erased all traces of emotion from his face.

"Frodo?!" Gimli's gruff voice was a mixture of confusion and relief.  "OVER HERE!" he shouted, loud enough to shake the rocks to their foundations, and almost immediately the elf and Boromir appeared together over a ridge.  Frodo racked his brain to come up with an excuse.

"Frodo!" Boromir repeated in relief, "We were worried about you!"

_'Again,'_ the hobbit thought sadly, sinking farther into guilt.  

"I'm sorry," he said softly.  "Where are the others?"

"They went on ahead," Legolas explained briefly.  "Aragorn said he needed to tend Sam's wound."

"Then we must rejoin them at once," Frodo said, and began to jog forward.

"But what of you, master hobbit?" Gimli called after him.  "Are you injured to have lagged behind?"

Frodo shook his head, ignoring the increasing pain in his side, hearing Boromir fall into pace close behind him, with Gimli behind him, and the elf easily took the lead.  

The next few hours Frodo remembered afterwards with horror.  He longed for nothing more than to collapse among the rock and dry grass, with nothing but the rabbits and crows to soothe his last moments.  Blood was constantly coating the back of his throat, evident by the sweet coppery taste filling his tounge, and more than once it nearly exploded from him with harsh, dry coughs.  The pain in his side had burned into a raging fire, and he nearly drew more blood from his lips in order to bite back the cries of pain threatening to burst from his mouth, evidence to his torture.  

Every time Legolas looked back, Frodo turned his head away, pretending to study the hills with unusual interest, but he knew the elf could not be fooled for long.  Sooner or later he would collapse as he had done earlier, and all would be revealed.  

When the small group burst into the fire-lit clearing, reuniting with their companions, Frodo was barely aware of his surroundings.  He answered his cousin's exclamations of relief with apologies, then clumsily spread out his bedroll, wrapped his cloak around him, and lay with his back to the rest, trying desperately to go to sleep.

But sleep evaded him, and he lay, muscles twitching feebly, listening with half an ear to the sounds of dinner being prepared.  He was too weary to eat; his arms became dead weights at his side and his legs trembled too violently to attempt to move.  Frodo nearly gasped out loud when a dagger ripped through his side, forcing his stomach to lurch uneasily.  He put a quivering hand to his mouth to stop anything that might come up, and his eyelids closed of their own accord.

"Mr. Frodo?"  he dimly heard Sam call, but could not answer.  He had fallen asleep.

~*~

            "Mr. Strider, sir, something's wrong with my master," Sam said uneasily.  

"What do you mean, Sam?"  Aragorn stopped chewing on the perfectly-cooked leg of meat, crispy skin, dripping grease and all, silently shaking his head in annoyance.

"He's shakin' all over, and he didn't even bother to eat supper.  He just fell right asleep."

Aragron reluctantly stood, setting his meal down with a sigh, and ambled over to the Ringbearer's small form huddled beneath his cloak.  He put a calloused hand on Frodo's forehead and checked his pulse, rather quicker than usual.

"He's tired, Samwise.  We had a long day's journey.  He'll be fine in the morning.  You should be worrying about yourself."

Sam's eyes darted from his master to the Ranger, and Aragorn ruffled his hair in a comforting manner, settling back down to his well-earned respite.

"Don't fret about him, Samwise," Boromir interrupted.  "He's a smart hobbit, as has been proven many times before.  He knows his limits."

"But…"

"Sam!  Stop _worrying_!" Pippin exclaimed, setting his small cup down rather roughly.  "All you ever do is worry about your Mr. Frodo! 'Sir!  Don't do that!' 'Here, let me do that for you!'  'Why aren't you eating, Mr. Frodo?'  'Can I accompany you to…'"

"Pippin!  That's enough!" Merry cut in sharply.  "You worry about Frodo just as much as he does, but at least Sam has the courage to act on it!"

Rebuked, Pippin sulked over to his bedroll and curled up facing away from the fire.  

"Don't mind him, Sam," Merry sighed, noting the hurt look in Sam's brown eyes.  "He's tired from today, is all.  And Gandalf…"

A silence settled on the whole fellowship, and the stars above witnessed no more talk that night.

**~To be continued!~**

**Important Note:**  Sorry to disappoint you guys, but after the next chapter, I don't know when I can update again.  The same with 'The Master of Bag End.'  See, I'm trying to move, so I have no idea if I can update in a couple days or a couple weeks.  _If_ things go right, I will probably have NO time in May-July, so if I don't finish this or that story by the end of April, see you in August!!  *cries*  Point being, the more encouragement I get to write faster, the greater the chance of finishing the stories.

P.S.  For those of you who aren't familiar with my update schedule, I like to update every three days.  That's how it _used_ to be….*sighs*


	3. Chapter 3

**The Guilty**

Disclaimer:  See chapter 1.

**~Chapter 3~**

~~~~*~~~~

            Sam laid a gentle hand on his master's blanketed shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly.

"Mr. Frodo, are you awake?" he asked softly.  Frodo responded by pulling his cloak above his head, and Sam groaned inwardly.  His master had never been easy to wake in the morning.  

"Well, five more minutes and your breakfast will be ready," Sam sighed, turning back to the meal he was preparing.  Being the best cook in the Fellowship, he had been elected to prepare most meals, leaving the cleaning up to the unlucky fellow whose lot had been drawn.  He couldn't help but sense something was wrong with his best friend.

~

            Frodo didn't know what exactly to do.  Hardly could he move a muscle without pain searing through the disturbed limb, and his sleeve was dotted with teeth marks from suppressing cries of agony.  He hadn't dared touch his side, for even a normal breath clouded his head with pain so he could not think.  

_'I am in a pickle now,' _he thought, nearly smiling from Bilbo's old saying.  _'I cannot move to get up, yet if I lie here too long someone will cause a stir, and I shall be found out.'_  He knew there was only one role to play, that of a martyr.  The sensible side of him shouted for help and a long rest, but the stubborn, guilt-laden part took over, for he knew it was what he must do if he was to go on.

_'Heh, go on,'_ he thought bitterly.  _'What have I to go on for, save the Quest? IF I succeed in this impossible mission, what will I live to become?  A miserable old hobbit longing for better days?  I shall always carry the weight of the dead, of Gandalf's death, on my shoulders.'_

But the Quest had to go on, and Frodo knew if he laid down and gave it up now, accomplished by the admittance of weakness and injury, the Quest would fail.  He had already delayed the Journey by his recovery after Weathertop, and he knew Middle-Earth could not take any more chances.

Of course, that was what he told himself.  Secretly, in the depths his soul, he knew he deserved to suffer.  He had earned every throb and heartbeat of pain, for he had betrayed those he loved most.  

            Setting his jaw in fatalistic determination and blinding his eyes against any pain, Frodo sat up.  Wave after wave of gut-wrenching agony nearly forced him back down, and only by the stubborn Baggins will did he rise to his knees and finally to his feet.  The world swayed for a second, then became surprisingly clear.  He blinked twice, feeling incased within an unrelenting sphere of immobility, and he took a step forward.

"Mr. Frodo!" exclaimed Sam, dropping his plate with a clatter.  "What's wrong?"

"Noth…" Frodo cleared the rasp from his voice and continued.  "Nothing's wrong, Sam.  Don't worry about me."

"But you're so pale!"

"Please, Sam, not today," Frodo sighed, easing himself onto a log serving as a low bench.  His stomach turned at the scent of food rising from the iron skillet, and he stared into the glowing coals until Merry handed him a cup of water.

"We were worried about you yesterday, cousin," Merry said, trying to encourage conversation.  

"I'm sorry for causing you anxiety," Frodo replied, forgetting his excuse from yesterday. 

"Well, aren't you going to tell us what made you lag behind?" Pippin stared at him with curiosity, and gradually his face darkened.  "Sam's right, Frodo, you _are_ pale today.  Is something wrong?"

"Gandalf."  It wasn't the full truth, but it wasn't a lie either.  For the present, though, it would do.

"His death dies heavy upon us all, Frodo," Aragorn uttered softly.  "Come, though.  The time for mourning is not now.  We must make with all haste for Lothlorien, for I am surprised the orcs are not upon us by now."

Camp was disassembled quickly, the fire put out and packs hoisted upon sleep-refreshed shoulders.  Once Frodo managed to haul his pack up, he nearly fell over from the pain the weight inflicted.  Normally, one didn't notice the arching back of the chest cavity due to a burdened back, but oh could he feel it now!  He barely had enough time to adjust it before the company was off, running with greater speed than before for the woods.  

As they ran in the rising sun, Frodo's hopes began to die.  No matter how hard he convinced his legs to pump, they would not obey.  His lungs would not draw more oxygen.  His side was splitting in two, and the pain had reached the unbearable state.  Surely, any moment now he must fall aside and scream until his voice broke.  

Yet his pride drove him on.  If he had any dignity left in the world, it would not be thrown away now.  He may have led a friend to his death, the weight of the world may rest on his shoulders, and for his sake the ends of those in his company might be met, but he would not fall.  He would not stop mid-stride, cast his gaze up to the heavens pleading for help, and plunge into the soft brown earth, the Golden Wood so close the very leaves were discernable.

But he did.

~To be continued!~

**_Thank you to everyone who reviewed!!!  _**

**Note:**  I do have chapter 4 done, and thus the end of Part One, but I'm going away this weekend.  Sooo, I will probably post on Monday if not sooner!  


	4. Chapter 4

**The Guilty**

Disclaimer:  See chapter 1.

**_Thank you _**to **Breon**** Briarwood, Frodo Baggins 88, Kaewi, The Lazy Fairy, ElegantArrow64, and Yahiko** for reviewing!!  Glad you like it, and I hope you enjoy Part Two as well!  *hint hint*  I know these chapters are short for me (ahemIorhaelahem), but that is the style of this particular story.  Long chapters would overwhelm you all (because of all the drama and emotions and stuff) and then I couldn't leave off with all these nice little cliffhangers!! Mwahaha

**~Chapter 4~**

~~~~*~~~~

            Frodo felt the blessed earth collide with his cheek, each individual blade of grass leaving a red imprint on his skin.  The palms of his hands kicked up little clods of dirt, and the knee of his breeches tore on a tiny stone.  The weight of the world came crashing down on his shoulders.  Kings and nations upon nations begged him to rise, and continue on.

"Our doom!  Our doom!" they cried, beseeching him to crawl another step forward, just a tiny one.  It would be enough.

But he couldn't.  Heavy as the Burden was, the weight of his guilt was still heavier.  It crushed him into the dust, until his very bones sank into a swirling mass of grey nothingness.  He was nothing.  He would be nothing.  He would be buried in an unmarked grave.  The rabbits would eat the grass growing from the thin layer of dirt between him and the sky.  No flowers would blossom on his tomb, his name would be forgotten, swept into the dark abyss of long-forgotten history.  

"Frodo!?"

So be it.  He was meant to suffer on, and endure, if not for his sake, at least for the sake of the world.  

He was rolled roughly over, and caught off guard, he gasped in pain.  

"Strider!  Strider!  Frodo's hurt!"

_'No, Merry,'_ Frodo wanted to say.  _'This is my burden.  Don't help me bear it, for it could crush your steadfast spirit.'_

"Frodo!  Talk to me!  Where are you hurt?"

The closeness of air betrayed the presence of the entire fellowship crowding around him.

"Leave me," he whispered, so faint only the elf-ears of Legolas could hear it.  He didn't dare open his eyes, for if he did he knew the guilt in them would blind the eyes of everyone near.

He felt his shirt being torn open, and heard a gasp so naïve it could only come from Pippin.  He felt rather than heard as soft hiss of in-taken breath from Gimli.

"You're full of surprises, Master Baggins," the gruff voice said.

"Frodo?" The only gentle voice in the whole group, so quiet and full of such utter longing, broke Frodo's heart.  His hand was grabbed and held tightly as the sticky smell of blood rushed up to meet him.  By instinct rather than will, one eye opened a slit and he saw Aragorn's hand flash away, smeared bright red with blood.  What a startling contrast it made with the blue sky.

"I cannot tend him here," the Ranger said.  "We must get him to the Lady."

"But can't you do anything?" Sam cried.  "He can't breathe right, and there's so much blood!"

"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo tried to say, but his voice was so raspy he didn't think anyone could understand him.

"No one believes you now, Frodo," Legolas said sharply, although not without concern.  

A thousand spears tore through his side as his pack was eased from his shoulders, and he was lifted from the ground, settled into Aragorn's arms like a small child.  

Although the ranger tried to run as smoothly as possible, through the haze clouding his mind, Frodo bit his lip every time a jerk shattered the short spasms of receding pain.  Soon blood filled his mouth, and noticing this, Aragorn gave him a glove to bite down on instead.  Tears trailed down his dusty cheeks.  He could feel himself slipping steadily from reality.  

_'No,'_ he shouted to himself, _'I have a duty to fulfill.  I made an oath.  I cannot die until I accomplish what I set out to do.  Only then may I finally receive what is due, the final punishment of one Guilty.'_

~*~

            Shimmering in crystalline white, the Lady descended the steps, coming down on the arm of her husband to meet the weary Fellowship bowing respectfully before her.

"Where is Gandalf?" she said majestically, "for I much desire to speak with him."

"He fell, my Lady," Legolas responded sadly, "into fire and flame."  

She gave no answer, but her piercing eyes shifted to the trembling hobbit in Aragorn's arms.

"The Ringbearer is gravely injured in spirit and in flesh."  She spoke purposefully, without hesitation. "Come, Estel, we must tend to him."  

Galadriel led the way down the long stairs to a small pavilion beneath the trees. Although it was open on all sides, no cold draft drifted through the slender columns.  They supported an intricately carved ceiling, adorned with stone vines and graceful elvish script. A small bed had been prepared, and a few tall elves moved gracefully about arranging six more of various sizes. Aragorn shifted Frodo gently and laid him down upon the pristine sheets, and a small groan escaped his swollen lips.  As soon as his head hit the pillow, the weary eyelids closed and he passed into the realm of the unknowing.

The Lady watched passively as Aragorn removed the hobbit's upper clothing, exposing his pale chest.  It rose and fell feverishly, gasping for small hitches of air. A dark, blackened bruise on his right side was nearly hidden by the steady stream of blood leaking from a shallow but penetrating cut between two ribs.  'His left side was also scored and bruised where he had been hurled against the wall.*  

"In the cave, Frodo was pinned by an orc cheiftan's spear," Aragorn explained as he washed the wound carefully. "I had forgotten about it, so great was my grief over Gandalf's death. He should have said something to me, and I would have tended him!"  

"He didn't want to cause us more trouble, is likely," Sam sighed. "He's never liked to talk about his hurts much." The loyal friend had been hardly a foot away from the proceedings, and he felt tears come to his eyes at Frodo's fate, yet set his jaw and said nothing.  

"Yes, but _this_!" Aragorn exclaimed. "I've seen stronger men quail over less! And he's run miles on two broken ribs, without so much as a complaint! Had he fallen, the ribs could have fractured and punctured his lungs.  Such a wound would lead to an agonizing death."  

Sam wiped his eyes and sniffed, staring at his master's pale, unconscious face.  

_'Why didn't you tell your Sam?'_ he asked mournfully. _'I would have done anything I could to help. Why, Mr. Frodo?'_  
~

The Lady looked down on all this, and cursed her gift of foresight. This was only a beginning, she knew. The Ringbearers' wounds could be healed, but to what end? He would accomplish his purpose, that she knew, but the wounds of his soul would never callous or disappear. The very nature that would save Middle Earth would not suffer him to endure after his purpose was accomplished.  

For she looked into the future, and saw Death.__

**_THE END_….of Part One!!**

*Taken from 'The Fellowship of the Ring' by J.R.R. Tolkien, pg 377, pgh 5

Sorry for such a short chapter, but I felt it ended here.  This part, at least.  Coming soon…PART TWO!!  

*Anyone seen Ella Enchanted yet?  I read the book, and I recognize the actors.  Is it any good?


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